an old writer and his words

  • WITHOUT

    He pretty much hated the outdoorscamping was a wholly alien conceptin parks for places for at besta short visit, a picnic lunchand then back in the car and home.He was not even a fan of the partsin the heart of the city, for theydrew crowds and he did notlike to be around other people.He wanted…

    Lou Faber

  • WE COULD

    We could, if you want,sit in the park on our foldingchairs or better a folded blanketand stare out over the pond,its silver surface shirredby a midday breeze. We could picnic, sandwichesof brie and apples, or for ushummous with tahini anda bottle of chardonnay, carefullypoured into plastic glassesimagining themseles crystal. The dragonflies would ignore us,busy doing…

    Lou Faber

  • PICNIC

    A cloud envelopes the forest.  The trees believe it is they who pierce the cloud, impaling it, its essence drained onto their sagging limbs.  The shower passes and we walk the forest floor.  In a small clearing we lie down on a damp bed of needles.  They do not pierce our skin.  Four birds gather…

    Lou Faber